


the age of steel

by loupettes



Series: just the bits in-between [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e06 The Age of Steel, F/M, Fluff, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, Missing Scene, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupettes/pseuds/loupettes
Summary: Part seven of thejust the bits in-betweenseries: a collection of missing scenes taking place between or during each episode of series 2.the age of steel. Takes place after the Doctor drops Rose off at her mum's. Rose mourns the loss of Mickey, and deals with the aftermath of having two of the most important people in her life turn her away. And, worryingly, the Doctor is nowhere to be found. Has he left her, too?
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: just the bits in-between [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095053
Comments: 40
Kudos: 50





	1. part one

She stared vacantly at the floor. Specifically, that little dark mark by the fireplace, the one that Rose had made many many years ago after she had accidentally knocked over a bottle of nail polish. Her mum had snapped at her and she had cried, said sorry, and was forgiven. And now, all that remained was a stain.

Both Rose and her mum now sat in the living room, on separate sofas, watching the telly without watching it. Rose couldn’t muster the strength to pay attention; any ability to exert executive function buckled under the colossal emptiness of a flat two blocks away, one belonging to a man who no longer existed in this universe.

The worst part was _he was alive._ She felt awful for even thinking that — she should be thanking the stars that he was — but she couldn’t stand the feeling of knowing that, right now, he was out there. Settling into his first night in a new world, living a new life. A fresh start, one without uninspiring jobs and selfish girlfriends.

How dreadful that she should feel so ashamed only now that he was free of her.

And yet — _she’s_ the one who wanted comfort. Here she was, sitting with her mum, knowing that her mum had just lost someone so close to her, too, and all she wanted was a hug. For her mum to stroke her hair and to be told that it was all going to be okay.

It wasn’t. Rose had made someone feel so unloved that she had pushed them into another universe.

“On second thought, I _am_ a bit hungry,” she interrupted her own self-deprecative monologue; she’d heard far too much of it lately.

Her mum looked away from the telly, her attention finally caught. “Yeah?”

“Mmm. Fancy a walk. Could nip down to the Chinese on Cheffins Road, if you want? Extra chips and curry sauce?”

“Oh, go on then,” Jackie grinned, and even though Rose knew it was an attempt to cheer her up, it worked. “Got a tenner in my purse, down there by the door. The Doctor ever coming back?”

Rose felt an odd sting somewhere near her swollen heart at the sound of his name. A feeling she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, so she pushed all want to interpret it to the side. “It’s not unusual for him to say he’ll just park the TARDIS and get himself caught up in a heist along the way. Might not see him for a while.”

She slipped her trainers on, grabbed her mum’s purse and keys, and stepped outside.

The air was cold enough that she felt the need to walk quickly, despite only moments ago needing so much to simply _walk_. _The Happy Garden_ was only about ten minutes from here, and it could take a good fifteen minutes for the order to be prepared. Funny that now she was outside she wanted to be back inside. It seemed as though she could never just be happy either way.

She crossed the small courtyard and made it onto the path that winded through the park, eventually taking her out past Lime Tree Avenue. She tried not to think about how many times she must have walked this way with Mickey, especially with the pub being across from the co-op by the takeaway. She remembered all the times they’d have a cheeky snog over on those swings when they first started dating at the beginning of October, before she’d swoon over him taking her hand and making sure she got back home safe. She felt the loss of his hand now. She never would be able to feel his hand in hers again.

It was quiet tonight. Unusually so. Normally these paths could be quite dodgy at night, and she would rarely think about walking them alone. She saw a couple of taller figures that she assumed were men, and she heard the familiar ringing of her ears fine-tuning themselves in response to a perceived threat. She immediately thought of the Doctor and how she wished so much he was here.

She realised she’d mostly taken this walk in the hopes that he’d be there in the flat by the time she got back. Again, being selfish; she knew damn well one of the contributing factors for Mickey leaving was how close she had become with the Doctor. And, if she were being brutally honest, and quite ashamedly so, she felt a sense of relief at her now being able to be.

She screamed. Unintentionally, of course, and the group of men stopped still, but she was just so… so _angry_. No, angry wasn’t the right word. She was furious with herself — _at_ herself. Even _she_ wanted to leave this bloody universe if only to escape herself.

Every corner she turned, every off-path space she saw, she looked for it. That blue box.

_Where was he?_

She veered right once she got to the slightly busier Mardale Street where she soon crossed over to the other side and took the left down Cheffins Road, before finally making it to the Chinese. Leo was working tonight and already knew their order; it was always a little disconcerting to find things like that, little reminders that life on Earth still passed in the same way it always had as she gallivanted across time and space. He didn’t bother asking about the chips and curry sauce, and she had no idea where it had come from in the first place, except it was something they’d always just done. Even to the point where Mickey would add it to his order, too.

Rose found that now she was here at the Chinese, she wasn’t quite so keen for a walk after all. She huffed, slumped down into one of the benches by the window, and waited.

* * *

By the time she got back, she knew before she’d even closed the door behind her that the Doctor wasn’t there. She might have wondered why, except she didn’t particularly want to.

“They threw in an extra bag of prawn crackers,” Rose called out as she toed off her trainers. By the sounds of it, Jackie was already grabbing the plates in the kitchen, so Rose cleared the coffee table and laid out the boxes of food. “Leo says he a’n’t seen you in a while. Janice’s been asking how you are.”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to call her. I keep forgettin’,” her mum groaned. Their arms worked in response to the other's, picking up different helpings of food in a co-ordinated fashion. Rose realised finally how hungry she was.

“How’s Liz doin’, by the way? Didn’t she go into St Mary’s for that operation a few weeks back?”

“Oh, gotta be a good few months now, love,” her mum chuckled, but it wasn’t so funny to Rose. “But she’s fine. She came off her crutches only… hmm. Two weeks ago, maybe?”

“When’s she back at work?”

“They said beginning of March she can start phasing back in. They won’t put her on nights though, you know, ‘cos she gets a bit more tired these days.”

Rose nodded, sticking her fork into the pile of Chow Mein and twirling it to gather the noodles. It was only once she heard her mum’s silence did she realise that’s as far as she’d got with the process. She glanced up, and of course, her mum was watching her.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

And so, it turned out it was the sixteenth time she’d been asked that question before she finally did cry. It didn’t take all that long before her ugly sobs were muffled in her mum’s hair, the familiar coconut aroma and gentle sounds of encouragement left Rose, five or so minutes later, in a stupified silence, having finally emptied herself of as much shame and sorrow she could in one sitting.

“I did this, mum,” she whispered. She allowed herself to feel the comfort of her mum’s hand rubbing her back. _“Me.”_

“It wasn’t your fault, darling.”

“But it _was_. I left him behind, and I made him feel so unwanted and he _left_.”

“I know, I know. It’s okay. You didn’t make him feel unwanted, sweetheart, he knew how much you loved him. He told me so.” Her mum’s voice, it was always so forgiving. Even when Rose had spilt nail polish on a carpet that wasn’t hers to spill it on. Her mum and her mum alone had that excellent ability to make everything _better._ Rose closed her eyes and clung tightly. She unravelled, and her mum held her together, unfaltering and firm.

She continued to let herself be looked after by the one person who truly didn't care what it was that she'd done, and she realised at one point she’d returned her gaze back to the stain in the carpet. Her mum eventually pulled back to wipe away some of her tears and tuck her hair behind her ear. Strands of it were sticking to her blotchy face, all hot and wet, but her mum loved her all the same. She had never really appreciated it before, that absolute trust and faith that her mum will always, always love her. No matter what she did, no matter the circumstance. No matter how terribly ugly and splotchy her crying face was, no matter how much nail varnish she spilt on the floor, no matter how many arguments and horrible nasty things she would say in them, the threats of leaving and that she _hated_ her.

“I love you, mum,” she whimpered, and it set her off again a little, those hot tears adding to the claggy warmth on her cheeks.

“I know, sweetheart. I love you, too.”

Rose smiled when she felt her mum squeeze her hand and glanced over at the coffee table. “Even after I've made the chips go all soggy?”

“Even then.”

They both chuckled and pulled away, bringing their foreheads together as their laughs faded into their remnants, and Rose felt a sense of cathartic relief. They pulled apart and settled back into their places around the coffee table, and Rose felt that last bit inside her that she needed to purge.

“I want to sort out his flat tomorrow,” she announced.

Her mum frowned, but then nodded and gave Rose a small, understanding smile. “Do you want some help?”

 _Want_ and _help_ felt far too weak. “I need you there.”

“Course, darling,” she said gently; it gave Rose the confidence in herself to confirm it was what she needed. Another wonderful thing about her mum was, while she could be incessant over breakups and probing Rose on things she didn’t want to talk about, she always knew when Rose needed to do what Rose needed to do, and would only ever give her her full support. “Shall we get out the airbed tonight? Set it up in here and fall asleep to a film?”

Rose felt her heart skip briefly at the thought of giving up on seeing the Doctor tonight, hopeful though she was that he might yet come and find her, but the prospect of a girl’s night in with her mum turned out to be just about the one thing she wanted more.

* * *

It was different somehow. Mickey’s flat. It wasn’t as though she could still feel his presence, a sort of eerie lingering aftermath, like when she went to grandad Prentice’s flat not too long after he’d died — she very much couldn’t feel anything. That’s what was the strangest part. He was so far away that she couldn’t even feel him there.

She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to.

Jackie was in the kitchen, going through the easy stuff like pots and cutlery. All things that could just be chucked or given to charity, get rid of at least _something_ so as to have just _started_. It’ll get easier, then, Jackie had assured.

Rose looked at the TV. What about that? Give that away? Seems like the sensible thing to do. But there was a sticker on it of one of his favourite bands, think it was number four or five on the CD he’d burnt for her at the beginning, and this telly was _Mickey’s._ It was the one they watched _Fast and Furious_ on one of their first dates, where she was still a bit nervous about dating her best mate, but of course, it had ended up with a snog on the sofa around about the fourth or fifth time there was some car chase for whatever reason. It couldn’t be given away. But it needed to be. Couldn’t exactly sit here, could it? Although, maybe it could. This flat’s returning back to the council now, couldn’t she just leave it and it be a nice surprise for the next owner that moves in?

Rose had always been sentimental, she knew that. Quite a large proportion of her room was things that belonged to a different Rose, one from many years ago at different points in her life where she was _happy_. An entrance ticket to an ice skating rink for her 13th birthday, a biscuit tin Shareen had gotten to cheer her up after she’d failed her science test a few years back. She’d had a rock that looked like a heart from her trip to Blackpool Pleasure Beach when she was four or five, and her mum had written the date and two ‘xx’s in permanent marker on the back of it. All the way up to as recent as the Doctor’s jumper, the old one, the one she slept in as often as she could.

_Where was he?_

She could feel the sting of her tears threatening her thus far collected composure, so she ripped the sticker off the telly and stuck it to the inside of her box.

“What about these plates?” her mum called from the kitchen.

“Charity.”

“Oh, but these were his special-occasion ones —“

 _“Charity,_ mum”, she snapped. The silence in the kitchen, followed by the rustle of a box, was Jackie’s reply.

Rose slowly moved to the mantle, the moment she was dreading. All his pictures, whichever ones he deemed nice enough to actually put in a frame — and then, there it was. Their favourite photo of the two of them. Well, it wasn’t even their favourite picture, that was probably the one of them outside school after the last of their GCSEs. They were just mates back then, and, to be honest, she really fancied Jimmy by this point, but it reminded them of the fact that they’ve always been the best of friends. That, and because Mickey looked absolutely hilarious with these JNCO jeans he thought were _so cool_ , and Rose used to roast him for those bloody awful cheap silver chains hanging from the belt loops— and he secretly loved it. He’d soon got her back when she thought getting _cap_ _highlights_ were going to be a good idea as an end-of-school celebration. So, there they were, with streaky highlights and oversized jeans pockets, so incredibly happy at having made it through school. And, again, with this picture on the mantel, there was nothing particularly special about it, either. Just a quick one, caught at the pub one night with the lads, but they were in such a good mood and it was such a funny night — it was the one that ended in them all playing _Mario Kart_ with a complete group of strangers in the Mcdonalds in Clapham before they got kicked out for making too much noise — that it always tugged at the corner of their lips. _Who gets kicked out of the Mcdonalds in Clapham!_

He really was gorgeous. Rose had always thought so, even back before she dated Jimmy. That night, the one where she finally accepted it was over with Jimmy, she’d turned to Mickey, too afraid to go and face her mum. He’d stroked her hair as she cried on his shoulder, made her laugh and set up his bed for her, nice and fresh, while he kipped on the sofa. She’d realised that night for the first time what it felt like to be loved.

She turned back to the mantle and saw another picture, one not in its own frame but slotted into the bottom corner, in front of the glass. Just a little one, printed out from the internet cafe, of him and Jackie. Rose’s brow furrowed — she didn’t recognise it. Jackie’s fringe was a little longer, and Mickey’s hair was a little shorter, which told her this was a recent photo. One taken when Rose was out somewhere with the Doctor, presumably.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to keep her remorse contained. She had known Jackie had a life without her, and Mickey did too, but she hadn’t considered how their lives were woven _together_ , as Mickey Smith and Jackie Tyler. They’d always been close, by the way Jackie and Odessa had been before she’d… well. And then, of course, his dad wasn’t around, so his nan had started looking after him. And he _loved_ his nan, she was his mother and his father in one. But Jackie was his extended family, the overly-protective aunt who would fill him up with double the dinner and slip him a fiver whenever she could spare one. Even on the days she couldn’t too, really. In the early days after his dad had left and Mickey was still a bit too young to be catching the bus by himself — well, by Jackie’s standards — Jackie would pick him up from school whenever she could. And, on the days she couldn’t, she made Rose and Mickey swear to her that they’d always get the bus together.

And _another_ picture had been slotted into one of his nan's dog. It was them, the four of them at Christmas: Jackie, Rose, Mickey, and the Doctor. And they were all so _happy._

It simultaneously warmed her and hurt her to note, for the first time, how close she and the Doctor looked. It was the same as with that painting, back in New New York, where they _fit_ together. Smiles matching the other’s in glee, Rose's eyes excited and his softer. Things she hadn’t noticed before, like how Rose’s hand lay on the table, fingers a little outstretched as the subconsciously reached for his resting beside his plate and his daft little socks —

She’d never noticed they were _Cadbury Rose_ ’s socks. She felt a chuckle somewhere deep down wanting to surface, but something was blocking it somehow. And, actually, his tie had a floral element to it, too —

She shook her head. _Come on, Rose. You're overthinking, as usual._

And, worse yet, she had completely overlooked Mickey, how cheerful he looked. How did he go from this to…

Once again, she found herself wondering what he was doing right now. On his first day in a parallel world. She hoped that lad Jake was going easy on him — where would he be? Where did he stay last night? Did he get a hotel? Kip at Jake’s?

What about her dad? She begged herself not to follow this route, but she couldn’t stop. She pictured him, going back to that mansion, now without Jackie, completely _alone._ Somehow still preferable to joining his daughter. She knew it was extremely unlikely, but perhaps she could pretend that Mickey and her dad formed some sort of bond, that maybe, just maybe, they might find each other and be less alone together —

Jackie’s voice from behind her made her jump. “That was an easy one. Shall we sort out the bathroom next?”

“I don’t think I can do any more today, mum,” Rose sighed.

Her mum was quiet and Rose was relieved to not hear a sigh of resignation. “If you want, sweetheart. How ‘bout we do a little more tomorrow? I can swap my shift with Irene — she owes me a favour.”

Rose smiled weakly and picked up her box. Quite light, really, but not a surprise considering there was not much else in it other than a photograph, a sticker and a hoodie.

Outside was chilly and grey as usual. It was lightly raining — if you could call it rain. The air was dampened, a sort of horrible weightlessness to it, like not even the rain could tether her emotions. Rose heard her mum close the door behind her and it sent an odd sense of closure down her spine, tickling her nerve endings in the most taunting of ways.

It was about the time she heard the ground-floor door close behind her mum that she saw him; his hands in his pockets, coat billowing behind him in the wind, on his way up to their flat over the other side of the court. She had just about as much conscious thought to place the box down on the floor in a semi-gentle manner before her body took over, that horrid weightlessness harnessing inside her, propelling her towards him with an energy she had no idea she could muster.

 _Him. Her_ him. She couldn’t even choke out his name to warn him she was about to crash into him, and she felt the sting in her inner thighs as they stretched to her long strides, her knees aching with the shock reverberating straight up from her ankles.

He spotted her a little later than she would have thought, perhaps the reason why his leg jolted backwards to bear the unanticipated weight when she slammed into him. She clung to him so tightly and willed only for the same need in return, and he gave it to her; holding her so firmly she could manage to stand on her tiptoes without feeling the tension in her calves. That was until she just wanted to be _held_ , so she slipped down and wrapped her arms around his waist.

There had been a weight on her shoulders so unbearable over these last twenty-four hours that she had felt it beginning to pull her below the surface, like the Earth’s gravitational hold on her was claiming her every nerve. But now, with the Doctor’s arms around her, she felt the pull of _his_ gravity field above all else. Something about the way he held her now felt like he was looking after her, that he could see the way she was slipping and he knew exactly just how to keep her here, on this plane of existence, with him. With all those left in this universe who loved her. 

He had hurt her, and terribly so; it was a wonder she even trusted him now to take care of her. But here he was, fingers spread wide on her back and cheek resting on the top of her head, it was just by simply being him that he seemed to know exactly how to make her feel safe — sort of how her mum always loved her, Rose now had complete faith in the Doctor always taking care of her, always being there for her, even when she thought he wasn’t. Even more so when she felt the rain begin to fall more heavily, taunting her skin with wet beads of callous blame, a crescendo of white noise infiltrating her every thought, exposing her every worry, and he shielded her with his coat, keeping her warm and safe and _protected_. Free to just unravel and focus only on herself, hiding her selfishness from the rest of the world and giving her a safe space to just be so. He completely enveloped her, even letting her tuck her head into the crook of his neck and keeping as much of her as dry as he could, and then he just… stood there. Waited. 

For the first time, she felt the Time Lord pause time for _her_.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, but she could feel he was colder than usual, she felt it in the way he was tensing to repress his shivers. She knew she needed to let him go so that he could dry off, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She couldn’t help but be selfish even in this.

“Where have you _been_?” It was much more desperate than she wanted it to sound, but perhaps for the best; she was just so exhausted that she didn’t have the mental capacity — nor, she supposed, _want_ — to hide her need for him.

His reply was delayed and barely audible, and she could tell he was uncertain about whether he wanted to tell her. “I thought you might want some space.”

“Not from _you,”_ she begged, _“never from you.”_

His arms magnetised around her only tighter, and she whimpered at the thought of being so close to his hearts yet still out of her reach. But she could feel them, though, and perhaps somehow even more so his left as she felt the hole in her right side begin to fill.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s _okay,”_ she sobbed. It really, honestly was, because she was _tired_ of hearing him say those words and feeling too hurt to believe them when, really, it seemed so easy now to just... forgive him. And goodness did she want to forgive him and have him back.

“C’mon,” he murmured, and it was a wonder she heard it at all amidst the rain, “let’s get you upstairs.”

She more than reluctantly let go of him, but he maintained their contact when he took her hand. She looked around her for the box of Mickey’s things she’d only now just remembered was made of cardboard and she cursed herself for once more forgetting about him _again_. But it wasn’t there.

“Your mum grabbed it,” he explained, seemingly reading her mind.

 _Of course she did,_ Rose thought guiltily. She felt him gently squeeze her hand and the guilt and self worthlessness she felt dissolved to the touch. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

As they ascended the steps, Rose realised just how tired she was. She hadn’t slept much last night; it wasn’t that the airbed was uncomfortable, she had just been restless. She wasn’t sure she’d even slept more than an hour or so at a time. She felt like her emotions were playing a game of tug-of-war on her insides, the guilt constantly pulling at the relief, the need constantly pulling on the aversion. Part of her wondered whether she might rip apart, and then, as she considered the feel of the Doctor’s hand around hers, she realised it was him keeping her together.

Her mum’s flat had never felt so warm. Well, maybe it had that time they’d got locked out smack bang in the middle of winter and they had to wait for Janet to come home from work and give them their spare key, but this felt like a close second. _Third_ , once the Doctor dropped her hand and edged past a fussy Jackie — presumably to find whatever he could in the kitchen.

“Right, you,” her mum announced, her finger wagging towards the bathroom. “Strip out of them wet clothes, I’m running you a bath.”

Rose happily obliged and went to her bedroom to grab her dressing gown and a bobble to tie up her hair, grabbing an old scented candle she’d gotten for Christmas on her way out. She crossed the hallway on her way to the bathroom when she ran into the Doctor heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, hoping that it was only her who heard the urgency in her question.

He gestured wordlessly to himself; suit completely soaked through and his hair a wild mess. She chuckled and pointed to an umbrella by the door. He grabbed it and nodded.

“See you later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter — although, why would you, when Rose is heartbroken and feeling abandoned? 😭
> 
> Chapter 2 coming tomorrow, much more fluff and, my fave, angst and longing with some hurt and comfort in there, too.


	2. part two

Rose wasn’t often one for baths; she needed to be in the right frame of mind for one. Tonight, though, she couldn’t remember a time she needed one more.

Extracting herself from those calming vapours and a heat that had noticeably liquified her insides, she dried herself off, moisturised, and took her dressing gown from the radiator. She could hear Jackie talking, and, as much as she knew her mum could talk the hind legs off a donkey, Rose knew she wasn’t one to talk to herself — well, at least not that much — so she presumed the Doctor had found his way back. She momentarily considered saving him from what she imagined was quite literally his worst nightmare — that being an hour or so alone with Jackie Tyler in a very small living room — but when Rose reached her bedroom and saw that her mum had put fresh sheets on her bed and made it up all nice, she couldn’t resist collapsing on top of it.

Arms and legs spread in true starfish fashion, Rose closed her eyes and listened to the rain tapping quite heavily now on the window. She wondered if the Doctor had managed to change, only to get even more wet as he made his way back, and snickered to herself at the thought. She then started to chuckle at not hearing any response to her mum’s voice for a good few minutes now and pictured him in a wet suit with wet hair, arms folded, eyes closed, head tilted back, just wishing for it to be over.

It was entirely plausible. And he’d be putting up with it all just for Rose. Her heart, already so blissfully relaxed, warmed at the thought.

She pulled herself up and changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas, slipped into some fluffy socks, and padded into the living room. There, she found a dry Doctor, plausibly engrossed in some sort of gossip magazine; a talkative Jackie giving a commentary on whatever show she was watching, presuming she was taking part in a two-way conversation; two empty cups of tea on the coffee table; and the old gas fire on — the one that smelled like Christmas morning and hot chocolates after getting drenched at Battersea Zoo. Goodness, she never thought she could feel so comforted. She sunk down into the sofa next to the Doctor and hummed in content.

“Feeling better?” Her mum’s voice reached her ears in the same way those calming vapours from the bath had reached her tension.

Rose closed her eyes and nodded with the limited energy supply she had. She heard her mum get up, saying something about making everyone a fresh cup of tea. Rose opened her eyes when she heard her fill the kettle with water and glanced at the Doctor, whose brow was knitted as he studied what she now realised was _OK! Magazine._

“Anything interesting?”

He looked up, apparently caught off guard by her question. His gaze lost focus and he shrugged indifferently. “Oh, not much. Apparently, Jessica whatever-her-name-is cheated on Nick what-his-face, s’why they're getting a divorce."

“Didn’t even know they were getting divorced.”

“Oh.” He sniffed and looked back down at the magazine. “Well in that case - Jessica whatever-her-name-is and Nick whats-his-face are getting a divorce.”

“Oh really?”

“Apparently.”

They giggled, and it was nice to feel that giggle with him in a way that wasn’t in its own game of tug of war. The Doctor reached for the plate of biscuits and offered it to her first. She took two and smiled when he didn’t take any for himself.

“How many you had, then?”

“Shan’t say.”

She was about to reply, but she'd forgotten how bloody delicious _Chocolate Digestives_ were. She gave herself a good few moments to enjoy it before venturing forward.

“Got us banned from any galaxies since you’ve been gone?”

He paused, long enough that he had to think, but not long enough to cause her worry. “Almost."

And, apparently, that was that. She had wondered where he’d been over the last twenty-four hours, and she did really want to ask him, but not with her mum still in the kitchen. Besides, she'd come across far to keen and clingy if she continued to pester him about just one day away from her.

_Oh, sod it._

She picked up a pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Where did you wander off to, anyway?”

“Hmm?” It took him a second to draw his gaze from the magazine and look at her, which meant he was _concentrating_ on drawing his gaze from the magazine and looking at her. She felt her chest tighten in dread. “Oh, you know. Same old, fixing the TARDIS and what-have-you.”

“You tryna tell me the TARDIS is so broken it took twenty-four hours to fix, _and yet we’ve been flying through time and space in it?”_

 _“Was._ It’s not broken any more.”

“Oh, well thanks, that’s reassuring.”

“No probs.”

She felt a flush of embarrassment when she laughed but he only smiled, like a bloody school girl fancying the guy a few years above who had _no_ interest in her like that but took pity on her. Admittedly this guy was several years — that’s several _hundred_ years — above, but the likeness remained. She turned her attention back to the pillow and fiddled with the zip, thinking about how next to ask the que—

“How was it, today?”

His voice interrupted her thoughts, and she was a little taken aback to hear him ask. For some reason, it felt so… _personal_ , and she could tell by the way he’d asked that he’d thought so, too. He was, essentially, asking her about a breakup. She looked up at him, brow furrowed in curiosity, and his lips parted in response. He cleared his throat and looked back down at the magazine, shrugging it off.

“Jackie was telling me about it — _and_ the fact that you ordered chips and bloody curry sauce with a Chinese takeaway last night?”

“Oi! Don’t knock it!” She tapped his thigh with her foot and he grabbed it, pinching her ankle firmly with his thumb and index finger. She wiggled it free and gave him another tap on his thigh in warning, but he left it that time and rolled his eyes in defeat instead. She grasped the opportunity to leave her foot resting on his thigh — she supposed a sort of apology for making him feel uncomfortable for daring to ask her about her feelings, but really, she longed for that physical closeness, a need to touch him in any-which-way she could, and the cosier it were, the better. “Everyone turns their nose up at chips and curry sauce from the Chinese, but wait till you try it.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he grinned, reacting in no way to her quite risky move.

“I thought you were all about trying out Earth traditions?”

“That is not a tradition.”

“It is in the Tyler household.”

He nodded slowly. “That makes me even more weary.”

“Oi!” Her mum snapped as she brought in three cups of tea on a tray — but withheld his from him in punishment. “Am I hearing you talk bad about us Tylers?”

“Not at all! Was simply acknowledging our differences in taste.”

“Hmm.” Jackie seemed only half persuaded, but she gave him his tea nonetheless. “Got my eye on you, mister. And since when did you stop drinking tea with no sugar, anyway? Don't tell me you're going on a diet, you disappear when you turn sideways.”

The Doctor poked Rose’s foot. “Since your bloody daughter wouldn't stop nicking mine and I got tired of listening to her moaning it was too sweet.”

Rose took a sip of hers and closed her eyes in pure bliss: freshly bathed, with the lingering scent of lavender on her dressing gown; a nice hot cup of her mum’s tea, of all people’s; and her foot resting on the Doctor’s lap, of all people’s. _And,_ she was stunned to see that he was gently — and, apparently, absentmindedly — brushing the backs of his fingers up and down the curve of its arch. She was finding it difficult to keep up with the untethered dance her heart seemed to be partaking in, and then that stab to her gut reminded her that she’d pushed away one of the greatest loves of her life and she shouldn’t be feeling this happy so soon afterwards. She pulled her foot away and tucked it back underneath her.

She drank the rest of her tea in silence, an easier achievement with her mum being engrossed in some ITV drama with that bloke with the moustache and the Doctor continuing to flick through the magazine. He can’t have been reading it; she knew he was a speedy reader, to say the least, but she was too focused on gulping down the rest of her tea to worry about it. Why was she so _nervous?_

As the 10 o’clock news flashed up, Rose pulled herself to her feet, taking all three cups back to the kitchen, and felt an odd twist of anticipation in her chest when Jackie stood and announced she was going to bed. She heard her ask the Doctor something about blankets and his polite decline, and there it was — the tangle loosened and her heart dropped. Rose looked through the passthrough window and saw the Doctor reach for his jacket and she dared herself to ask him to stay, but she couldn’t find the right time. And then the moment she was hoping to find had passed. He caught her eye and he frowned a little at her obvious self-conflict and she smiled weakly. His gaze momentarily narrowed, before he poked his head around the kitchen doorway to study her more closely.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she assured, her smile more convincing this time. By the way he smiled in return, she guessed he’d bought it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

She hadn’t really thought about taking his hand to prevent him from leaving, she’d just done it. He turned, eyebrow raised in surprise, perhaps in anticipation of an explanation for the actions of her hand. She tried to give him one, but she was silenced by something inside her; she suspected it was the same thing that had so forcefully drawn her to him outside, and the same thing that had dared her to probe him of his whereabouts over the last twenty-four hours. She looked down at her hand as if confused herself, and when her eyes pathed the way up his arm to find his, she found he was watching her curiously. She didn’t drop his hand, and she noticed he didn’t move his. No closing his fingers around hers, and no apparent desire to release hers, either.

Through no will of her own, her thumb began to lightly brush over his knuckles, and she felt his fingers loosen under her hold. Something about it, the tiny gesture, the feel of his coarse fingers in her warm palm responding to _her_ gave her a sense of dominance, bringing with it a renewed confidence that would keep herself firm and upright over the next few minutes of uncertainty. She felt oddly exposed under his watchful gaze; she knew he was searching for something and she almost feared he would find it. Her eyes fell shut of their own accord at that and she swallowed, a feat made much more difficult given the dryness of her mouth.

“Are you alright?” he whispered again, only not like before. His voice was lower, hushed though it were. So low, in fact, that it reverberated deep within her; she could almost follow its path from the tip of her head all the way down her spine, igniting every nerve until she felt the spark where her fingers connected with his skin.

He was incredibly close. Dangerously so; she daren’t open her eyes to see just how close, because she was aware she might… well, that’s the thing. She was completely unaware of what she might do if she could see just how close they were to each other right now.

She realised, only once she'd closed her eyes and listened to the silence, that she’d never listened to nor in fact heard the Doctor breathing. She thought back to before, outside in the rain, where she felt their hearts beating together. She had hugged him enough times by now to know that his hearts beat steadily; a somewhat more equal and balanced rhythm than that of a human’s heartbeat. But she’d never focused on his breathing, never questioned whether it did a better job of voicing those hearts of his. But now, mere inches away, she listened.

Calm and steady, as predicted.

Her fingers twitched and she realised they were reaching for his wrist, chasing his pulse, trying as hard as she might to confirm her belief that she wasn’t alone in this. His palm uncurled to her, and with his hand following _her_ suit and his eyes so vast, she realised he was vulnerable. What’s more is that he was, for what she felt like the first time, _letting_ himself be vulnerable with her.

Her own sharp intake of breath startled her and she felt it again, that thing that seemed to be governing her actions tonight that was not her own conscious will, speaking the words for her when normally she wouldn’t dare.

“Stay.”

She regretted it almost instantly and winced, breaking the trance. He was an _alien_ who didn’t sleep for goodness sake — what was he going to do, read her a bedtime story? Sit here on the sofa with sod all to do?

Worse yet, there was a terrible silence in the air, and she knew she’d put him in an uncomfortable position.

“Never mi— no, it’s— I didn’t—“

“Rose, I can stay. If you want me to.”

He sounded even more uncomfortable than she thought he would have.

“Na, it’s fine,” she laughed weakly. She gave it everything she had left to pull away from him, thankful to spot the biscuit plate on the coffee table and give her a reason to step out of the bubble that had just formed around them.

“You've always been a fickle bugger,” he smirked, nicking the last biscuit from the plate as she passed.

Rose gave the plate a quick rinse, along with their three empty cups, and the Doctor had, at some point, appeared next to her to dry them. She chuckled to herself at the domesticity of it all, and, by his knowing chuckle in return, he found it funny too.

“Remember when you said you didn’t do domestics?”

“Mmm,” he agreed, gazing out of the window wistfully. “I miss those days.”

She elbowed his arm and he elbowed hers back. She flicked off the tap and sighed, turning around to lean back against the counter. As she was drying her hands with the tea towel the Doctor was trying to use, her gaze reluctantly defaulted to the box of Mickey’s things she’d so carelessly tossed on the floor outside, the one her mum had brought up.

“He’s happy. You’re allowed to feel relieved about that.” She knew he was watching her, so she kept herself guarded and still, only giving him a small nod in response. “He didn’t leave because of you.”

“Well, he certainly didn’t want to stay because of me,” she muttered, and it was his turn to be quiet as he finished putting the cups back in the cupboard. She watched him fold the tea towel neatly over the radiator, his expression calm, and she felt guilty. “Sorry.”

He put his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “It’s my fault, too.”

“Yeah, well, _dad_ didn’t leave _you_ , too, did he? And _you_ didn’t leave you on a spaceship three-thousand years in the future, either.”

As soon as she said it, she imagined his fists balling up in his pockets in anger at her having brought it up, _again_ , and she desperately didn’t want this to be that bloody argument, _again_. He seemed calm, though, although whether that was actually how he was feeling was a mystery to anyone, and he nodded to the box.

“Do you want some help with that tomorr—”

“I want you to _stay! Please!_ Just _stay_ with me!”

The Doctor moved swiftly when finally her voice broke, tugging on the sleeve of her dressing gown and pulling her to his chest. She heard him whisper something undecipherable and she even could have sworn he’d lost a kiss to her hair. For the second time that evening, he kept a hold of her tightly, only releasing her when she released him.

When she found the courage to look back up at him, he mostly looked concerned for her, but there was a sense of awkwardness about him she knew all too well. Perhaps he was only now realising what he’d agreed to. Even _she_ felt the tension, not really knowing how this was going to work, and she imagined him twiddling his thumbs while she snored next to him. But she was too exhausted to _worry_ about what might happen rather than to just _do_ it, so she took his hand and gently tugged for him to follow.

Only then did it occur to her that she was leading _the Doctor_ to her _bedroom._

She knew he must have been feeling nervous, only ten times more awkward about it. And then _she_ started to feel even more awkward, especially once she closed the door behind her and they were faced with the silence, her bed looking both smaller than it’s ever looked before and massive in this room. Part of her was tempted to just tell him that, actually, it doesn’t matter — she’s fine now, not to worry, he can leave if he wants to. But then she thought about how much she just _wanted_ him there with her and somehow she’d got him here; after the constant battle in her mind comparing herself to Reinette, wondering whether he might have secretly wished it was her now by his side, wondering whether he might ever be okay with settling for just Rose instead, she finally felt as though she had reason to believe she was _enough._

“If your mum asks,” he whispered, “I did _not_ spend the night in your bed.”

She laughed heartily, instantly more self-assured when he began to take off his tie. “Yeah, don’t think it’s every mother’s dream to find out her daughter’s spent the night with a _very_ old man.”

“An alien, at that,” he pointed out.

“The fate of the Time Lords now rests in my mother’s hands, you know.”

“God help us.”

There was one blissful moment when she first got into bed that she felt so unbelievably cosy. She burrowed into herself, pulling the covers right up and shivering in pure comfort and delight. She once again listened to the rain on the window, her toes curling at the thought of being tucked up safe inside. Her eyes opened and she found the Doctor smiling back down at her.

“Comfy?”

“Mmm.”

He snickered and lowered himself gently to lie next to her and shifted a little, readjusting himself — or so she thought, until he pulled out what she was mortified to see was a _bra_ from underneath him, his eyebrow raised in a way he had no right to do given her current state of vulnerability, and _especially_ not so with the bra being so completely and utterly _bland_.

She snatched it from him as fast as she could manage and slung it to the other side of the room, before slapping her hand to her face and praying her cheeks weren’t bloody fire-engine red. “Oh, my god!”

He met her flare of embarrassment with a grin — a bit too devilish for her liking. “Do you often sleep with your bras?”

“They’re very supportive companions, through and through.”

He allowed her that victory — which was rare, but most certainly appreciated. It took her a good few minutes to recover, probably because she was simultaneously trying to recompose herself whilst at the same time coming to terms with the fact that she was lying in a bed with the Doctor. In her childhood bedroom, at that, and it felt even more dissociative considering she’d spent nights with past boyfriends in this very bed.

The Doctor had done this maybe once before. No — twice. Stayed with her at night, that is. Not yet this new Doctor, although she had fallen asleep unintentionally when they were hovering over New New York, and she was a little embarrassed when she woke up to feel him awkwardly shifting free beneath her after she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. Then there were the odd days they had to spend the night elsewhere on one of their adventures, where he mostly let her take the bed while he stayed on the floor. But he’d only ever consciously made the decision to stay twice, and both as his last self.

The first time, she had been quite sick. It turns out humans are allergic to Vervoid pollen, rather unsurprisingly, and his cool hands on her burning itchy skin were doing her the world of good. She remembered she was so nervous to ask him, but any extra dignity she might have had was thrown out of the window after he’d held her hair back as she was chucking up. He wasn’t there when she woke up, but she did find him in the kitchen fixing her up a nice breakfast that he swore was “the antidote”, but, to her, tasted like an average bacon sarnie and a little above-average cup of tea.

The second time, she’d awoken to a terrible nightmare. Rose wasn’t one to have nightmares — in fact, she wasn’t sure she even had dreams. So when she had one so vivid and terrifying, it really did spook her. She had stayed in bed for a while contemplating whether to get up and start her day, but she was exhausted. And, to be honest, the thought of asking the Doctor to stay with her never even crossed her mind — such a weird thing to do. But she heard a gentle tap at her door and was surprised to see him poke his head through and ask if she was ok. Turns out the TARDIS had alerted him to her nightmare and he wanted to check-in. The gesture, the familiar face mixed with the anxiety of sleep sent her timidity once more flurrying away and she asked if he could sit with her, just until she fell asleep. He _was_ there when she woke up that time, but it had only been a couple of hours, and he had settled into a book with an apple on the cover that had bored her senseless when she’d tried to read it. Nothing other than a platonic gesture, though.

But now _,_ as she became very aware of their proximity, she considered that perhaps he felt the same: that this was _intimate._ In a way they hadn’t been before. There’d been times where his tickling fingers had drifted a little too far up her leg, or that time she had to scratch his back and she was hypersensitive to his skin. There had even been that time where she was fairly convinced he was going to duck his head and snog her senseless when he was above her in that game of Twister a few weeks back. Moments where they only realised too late what was happening, and a quick cough or awkward chuckle sent them back on track. But this wasn’t realising too late; this was _very much happening_ , and she was very much aware of it.

She dared twitch her fingers to test how close their hands lay to each other underneath the covers. One slight movement and she made contact, the familiar feel of his hand suddenly now felt foreign to her. She shuddered.

“Cold?”

“A little,” she lied. Although — come to think of it, she was quite cold. As he pulled himself up to scan the room, she realised why. “Ah, yes. Should have remembered the cons to sleeping with a Time Lord.”

“Mmm, seems like you got the short end of the stick with that one. Sorry.”

“Just to warn you, I am a radiator when I sleep.”

He pulled back the covers and reached for a blanket that had been cast to the floor. “Oh, I bloody know you are. That time on Xastea and it was, what, 45 degrees? And we had to spend the night in that bloody tiny cabin? Was worried I might be using up another one of my regenerations after this one set alight.”

“Mmm, was a nice night for me though. Quite convenient, in the end.”

He grumbled and handed her the blanket, settling back down next to her while she tucked herself in.

“Just how cold _are_ you, anyway?”

“You’ve asked me this before.”

“Have I?”

“It only fuels my hypothesis that you don’t listen to a word I say.”

“Not true, I listen to the interesting ones.”

“All of them are interesting!”

“Pfft,” she scoffed, and his eyes widened, “remember not two weeks ago you stopped talking mid-sentence because, and I quote, _‘even_ I’m _boring myself”?”_

He grinned, apparently giving her that victory, too. He closed his eyes and only then did her breath catch in her throat; he was absolutely beautiful. Insanely so, and the closer she looked at him the worse it got. It was almost as if he knew everything she found breathtaking in a person and modelled himself on it, dusting it all off with delightful freckles and dimples she seemed to only ever be able to bring out herself. It wasn’t _fair_ , that she should have to live her life with a man so bloody gorgeous and not be able to do anything about it.

Sometimes, though, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to; she was afraid she would never be good enough to love that man because, really, how does a human even _begin_ to love such a thing that all the stars and the infinite components of time depend on to persevere?

“I realise only now that I don’t know whether you even sleep?”

“What?”

She giggled awkwardly. “Well, _do_ you sleep?”

“You’ve already asked me that, too,” he snickered. “Course I sleep. Wouldn’t have agreed to eight hours — _ten,_ knowing you — twiddling my thumbs while you counted a few thousand sheep.”

She snapped her fingers in recollection. “A few hours! You _do_ sleep, but only a few hours at night!”

“Well done.”

She grinned smugly and he rolled his eyes. “Alright, I get it. As long as I don’t sleep too long, you’ll hang about. Gotcha.”

But he didn’t laugh in response like she thought he would. Instead, he watched her with an expression she’d seen in herself many times, but never from him until now. His eyes were heavy and she dared to think it was for the same reason hers were; that sometimes, even the easy stuff like blinking and breathing became harder because love claimed them so fiercely. He wasn’t looking at her, he wasn’t even watching her like she might have thought. He was seeing her.

She heard his breathing now: shallow.

She felt as though she’d crossed a previously unreachable threshold tonight, and one that he'd knowingly allowed her to. Things were shifting, _they_ were shifting, she almost felt it beneath her in the silence. They were aligning.

“I won’t leave until you ask me to,” he whispered.

It was the longevity in his promise that finally found her her place amidst his stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this series so far! I hope you're enjoying it, and I can't wait to post the Ten/Rose wonder that is the second half of series 2 😍


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